


it's all on tape, my darling

by sweetchems



Series: of blood and mind games [1]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Alternate Universe - Mental Institution, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Creepy, Flirting, Frank Iero Is A Dumbass, Gratuitous use of the word darling, Horror, M/M, Mental Institutions, Mind Games, Pet Names, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Serial Killers, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 05:34:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17995865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetchems/pseuds/sweetchems
Summary: The killer with the charming smile is a bigger threat than any rambling nutcase Frank has ever seen before.And he hardly does anything.





	it's all on tape, my darling

**Author's Note:**

> okay so this basically exists because i watched the silence of the lambs last night and remembered i love suave psycho characters who can get inside people's heads. rlly good movie btw but im sure literally Everyone knows that.  
> i feel like im gonna make more parts to this bcus this au gee is super fun to write he's just so chill about his crazy shit so that's why this is tagged as a new series that has like a name n shit haha. i also don't think there's an actual serial killer called the canvas killer but correct me if im wrong please thanks
> 
> also DISCLAIMER: i am a dumb bastard who doesnt know all that much about psych/knows nothing about real mental hospitals so im gonna try to keep this au within the realm of horror film moderate dumb but still creepiness (which tbh explains why frank is such a dumb bitch in this au like honey no stop getting the hots for the dude in a straitjacket who said he wants to murder you im aware darling is a very nice thing to be called but just. sweetie no.)

Gerard Way, The Canvas Killer, grotesque murderer of fourteen men. Male, thirty-four years of age, and, forgive the slip of professionalism, completely fucking mental.

 

Psychiatrist-slash-investigator-slash-many-things Frank Iero ( _male, thirty years of age,_ he subconsciously notes of himself) runs over these details and assorted others as he briskly makes his way down the hallway of his workplace, a place he'd really rather not be on this very day. Listen, he doesn't appreciate whatever sick fuck decided he was who got the lovely pleasure of interviewing and questioning Gerard fucking Way. Whoever that is can suck his fucking dick. He's barely even been officially working in psych for a year, he essentially still considers himself a student of it, for fuck's sake, he damn near is! Who puts a goddamn baby of the profession to the task of interviewing a psychopathic murderer?! Frank's motherfucking superiors, that's who. What's even the point of interviewing this guy anyways?! He's already been trialed, he was ruled insane by the court, and he's been tossed in an asylum to rot, like he deserves. What could anyone possibly get from interviewing him?

 

Frank isn't aware he's scowling like he means murder till he enters the line of sight of a certain Doctor Ray Toro near Way's room (cell, more like). “Listen, I know you don't want to interview him, Iero,” Ray begins with a heavy sigh, able to read exactly what the scowl of death means. “But it's for research purposes. The higher ups want more info on his mannerisms because he's an honest-to-God psychopath, and those don't come our way often.”

 

“So what, he's Hannibal fucking Lecter?” Frank snaps. “Just my luck.”

 

Ray pinches the bridge of his nose. “I hate to prove you right, but that does seem to be the case. Mr. Way is reportedly extremely manipulative and a sweet-talker, _loves_ to get into people's heads and play with their feelings. Don't you dare tell him anything about yourself, Frank.”

 

“I think I'll tell him my freakin' life story,” Frank retorts sarcastically. “I'll spread my legs for him too while I'm at it! God, you think I don't know what I'm going into?”

 

“Just… be careful, alright?” Ray warns.

 

“Will do, will do.” And with that, and the swift motions of typing in a door code or two, Frank is in the wing Gerard Way is housed in, and then in the room with the man himself.

 

Now, up till now, Frank had only seen poor quality photos of the man, seen his long, greasy black hair that hangs in tangles around his pale face and not much feature-wise.

 

But Jesus fuck, is this guy attractive, in a sick way.

 

Sitting on the bed, bound up in a straitjacket, with a charming smile on his lips, is Gerard Way himself. “Ah, Mister Frank Iero. I suppose you're here to psychoanalyse me, aren't you, darling? Or are you my new nurse, maybe?”

 

“I'm here to analyse your mental state, yes, Mr. Way, the higher ranked doctors wish to hear more about your condition,” Frank answers, double checking he did turn on his little audio recorder when entered the room, and sure enough, the red light on it is blinking. “And I'd prefer it if you'd refrain from calling me darling in the future, Mr. W-”

 

“Why? Does it fluster you, sweetheart?” Gerard asks, his smile turning into a smirk that sends chills through Frank's body.

 

Frank bites his lip so hard he thinks he might reopen the place he used to have it pierced. “No, it's just- well, it's a little immature, trying to flirt your way out of answering my questions before I've even begun, isn't it?”

 

Gerard hums in consideration. “I'm not trying to get out of anything, my love. Isn't it a little immature to be so _aroused_ by a man you've just met?”

 

Frank wants to smack himself for turning red at that. God, he's a fucking teenage boy. “Mr. Way, please-”

 

“Oh, stop calling me that, darling. I know you don't say it out of respect, anyways.”

 

Frank grits his teeth and tries to suppress the way this guy is getting to him. “I'm going to ask you some questions about your life, Mr. Way. You just have to comply and answer them honestly, and I'll leave you be.”

 

“Oh, sugar, how will you know if I'm lying, though? I hate to break it to you, but you're not the brightest, dearest.”

 

Frank goes a revolting red color all over at that, from both irritation and embarrassment this time. “Will you please just agree to answer everything I ask honestly, Mr. Way?” He asks, with an unintentional begging note to his voice that draws up an undertone of something _hungry_ in Gerard's golden eyes.

 

“Of course, sweetheart. Please pull up a chair and ask away,” Gerard says with another charming smile, inclining his head towards the chair that's been set up in his room, most likely for Frank.

 

Frank takes a seat, audio recorder peering out of the front pocket of his shirt, as if to tell Gerard “I'm recording, don't you dare try anything funny”.

 

“Frankie, my darling,” Gerard begins after a moment, making Frank flush pink despite himself and cringe inwardly, “You look a lot like someone I'd like to kill.”

 

“H-how so, Mr. Way?” Frank asks tersely, voice a little thin. He starts taking physical notes on their conversation so far in a little notebook, noting Gerard's mannerisms, trying to occupy his mind, so he won't dwell as hard on how he's being flirted with and vaguely threatened by a convicted serial killer and legally deemed insane man.

 

“Did you not see the photos of my victims, Frankie? Most of them matched the following description.” Gerard licks his lips in a sickly salacious sort of way, “Young men with dark hair, on the petite side, pretty and delicate looking but with some fighting spirit. Just enough spirit that I'd get to see it _crumble_ away and be replaced by little sobs and whimpers when I hurt them. Sounds familiar, does it not?”

 

Frank swallows thickly. “Are you saying you would've made me one of your victims, had we met outside of this hospital, Mr. Way?” He asks, one brow raised.

 

“No questions asked, sweetheart,” Gerard replies coolly, “You know, you would've been the prettiest of them all.”

 

Frank notes that Gerard seems to have killed out of lust, noting the time he observed it as well, in case his theory changes. And he tries to block out the word pretty. “Mr. Way, would you maybe… describe what motivated you to pick victims with that… with that aesthetic?”

 

“It's simple. I'm an artist, Frankie, and we artists love beautiful things. Beautiful art, beautiful music, beautiful writing, and, of course beautiful _people_ ,” Gerard answers. “I happened to want to use beautiful people in my art, that's all, my darling.”

 

Frank winces a bit at this reasoning. _God, this man is disgusting_. He also makes another note about Gerard's motives. “I-I don't think anyone would consider mutilated corpses soaked and painted in their own blood to be beautiful art, Mr. Way,” He manages to say.

 

“I would,” Gerard replies, before dropping his voice to a soft, breathy dulcet tone, “And you, my sweet Frankie, you'd surely be the most beautiful piece of art out of all my works.”

 

“Mr. Way, I-I'm your doctor, this isn't-”

 

“You're not really my doctor, sweetheart, you're just a training shrink who didn't want to be here till I started talking.”

 

Frank tries not to look like Gerard is right. He probably fails, and he's glad he can't see his own face. _Don't tell him anything_.

 

“Am I wrong, darling?” Gerard asks after a moment. When Frank shakes his head, trembling slightly, he smiles and praises, “There's a good boy, so honest.”

 

Frank bites his lip. God, he's failing so badly at not letting himself be toyed with. He looks over his list of things he's supposed to try to discuss in a desperate attempt to control the conversation. “M-Mr. Way, were there any, um…. Events, in your life that in particular would've motivated you to want to kill all those men?”

 

Gerard hums in thought, before smiling ever so slightly. “I just find beauty in interesting things, my darling. Like you, for example. You're so fascinating, my little enigma, why don't you tell me a bit about yourself? About, hm…. Ah, how about you tell me about your childhood? The way one was raised says a lot about their demeanor, sweetheart.” The way he can change a conversation is incredible….

 

“I'm sorry, but I can't, Mr. Way, it's not your place to know about me,” Frank sighs, feeling quite fucking uneasy with how Gerard refers to him like he's a possession. Like he owns Frank. ‘My’ darling. God, it gives him fucking chills. “Could you maybe tell me about your art? The kind you did before you started killing, that is.”

 

Gerard's charming, common sense melting smile returns. “Of course, my love. I paint, and sketch, and all sorts of things. I'd love to be allowed some paints and paper at least in this place one day.”

 

“That could possibly be arranged for the future, Mr. Way-”

 

“I could paint you, darling, exactly how you look to me. Exactly how I want you to look….” Gerard suggests. He's trying to get to Frank and it's fucking working.

 

Frank swallows heavily, mouth suddenly feeling unbearably dry. “I-I see. That won't be necessary, though, you painting me would have no effect on how much work I put in to get you your art supplies.”

 

“Are you religious, Frankie, sweetheart?” Frank's brows raise in confusion, and he can't help answering.

 

“Ah..? No, can't- can't say I am. Why do you ask?”

 

“I just wondered. Because they say God hates liars, my darling.” Gerard's smile turns wicked and predatory for a moment.

 

“I wasn't lying,” Frank insists. His watch suddenly beeps, the alarm he'd set to go off at the time he was supposed to be done interviewing Gerard, well, going off.

 

Gerard's lips turn down in a mockery of sadness. “That means you have to leave, I assume. Though, you don't seem to want to.”

 

“Trust me, I do. Good afternoon, Mr. Way,” Frank says, rising from his chair and shutting his audio recorder off.

 

Gerard's expression turns into a smile again. “You can't give your superiors any of that footage, my little work of art.”

 

Frank locks his gaze onto the tops of his shoes. “And why can I not, Mr. Way?”

 

“Listen to it yourself. They'll all know what you thought of me the second they hear it, my dear. It's all on tape, my darling.”

 

Frank gulps at air uselessly, a shudder running through his body. “Good afternoon,” He bites out, before exiting the room, practically with his metaphorical tail between his legs.

 

He just prays to God he doesn't end up having to enter the room of patient Gerard Way again for a very long time. Huh, maybe he is religious after all….

**Author's Note:**

> kudos/comment if you enjoyed this weird ass thing!


End file.
